On My Side
by chocolate-moosey
Summary: Damage report: One Karkat Vantas, ritualistically sacrificed by his d-bag friend's d-bag brother. One Gamzee Makara, Duke of Hell and forger of covenants. Karkat has to make a trade for his life- and it isn't his soul the demon wants. Dave/Karkat Gamzee/Karkat Dave/Gamzee Dave/Gamzee/Karkat
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Damage report:

One: Karkat Vantas laying in the middle of a forest marinating in his bodily fluids.

Two: supposedly haunted bridge covered in supposedly demonic runes kids had been scribbling there since the nineteen sixties when an axe murder took place off of the bike trail it was on.

Three: douchebag older brother of douchebag friend (who is somehow part of Karkat's immediate friend group despite being a bag of douche) probably five miles away with a virgin sacrifice hot on his heels and a new demo CD that is probably going to do very well.

Four: the aforementioned bodily fluids are blood.

Five: chest wound. Big. Fucking. Chest wound.

Six: knife in chest. Causing said chest wound.

Seven: "As far as rides home go, this one could have gone exponentially better." Fucking repeating. In Karkat's stupid head. Like the end of a comedy routine.

If Karkat had been a comedian or the kind of kid that liked to adopt a Dane Cook-type voice and narrate his life adventures to his friends (which he was not), that would have been the ending line of his "I just got straight-up Jennifer's Body'd by Eridan's older brother" routine. All things considered, it was a pretty lame ending to what could have been a hilarious anecdote:

"I got drugged at Eridan's party! And then I got dragged out into the middle of the woods where Cronus' band was waiting with a slaughtered chicken and a bunch of sigils and candles! They chanted some shit and stabbed me in the chest and this terrifying black goop welled up from my mouth and I vomited it out for ninety seconds straight until there was enough to coalesce into a giant half-spider girl and she laughed and promised them their CD deal! And then she climbed into the water and I watched her become black goop again and float away! And now I'm going to slowly bleed out as per the contract I watched them form! Adrenaline is the only thing keeping me alive right now! And the knife still lodged in my chest! Haha, I'm going to die! As far as rides home go, this one could have gone exponentially better! HAHAH FUCKING HILARIOUS!"

And everyone would laugh with their mouths practically unhinged like in a bad Adam Sandler movie and John would slap Karkat on the back and tell him to keep his day job or some other contrived comment and everyone would go back to hating each other in relative fucking peace. Everything would be dandy and Karkat would not currently be rolling onto his side and screaming in pain as he attempted to crawl to safety! Hilarious!

Karkat groaned as he safely shifted to his side, his sweater flaking away some of the already-drying blood. The sigils were still cooling after the eruption of the spider demon from Karkat's mouth, giving off a little bit of a bluish glow and powdery smoke of the same hue. Laying in agony as the cold bit in and the adrenaline finally faded away, Karkat began to laugh softly to himself, convulsing on every hiccoughing giggle as it twitched the knife in his chest. Cronus had tossed his cellphone out of his band's van while they were hurtling down the back roads, and—would you look at that—there were no nearby houses; they were all downhill, nestled snug in a little gated community where his dying expletives would be heard as no more than little fox shrieks. Perfect scene for a murder. That's probably why there had been one RIGHT FUCKING THERE fifty years earlier. Maybe someone should've gotten on that. Fucking nature reserves. Karkat wished he could see the look on the face of the jogger that found him later that morning.

He laughed again, disturbing the knife and making himself cough a little blood onto the runes. Idly he began to scribble a doodle where the one his sleeve had scratched out had been. Stupid shit he'd been learning in his astrology course. Jesus fucking _shit_ was it taking an awful long time to die. The adrenaline had faded completely and Karkat was struggling to stay awake by this point, swimming in darkness at the edges of his visions and looking up at the late summer constellations as he rolled onto his back with a sharp shriek. Maybe—fucking maybe—goddamn Cronus had managed to miss hitting anything integral and the knife was just keeping all the blood in. ' _Just don't wedge it_ ,' Karkat told himself. ' _Maybe if you stay alive until dawn you can make it out of this alive. Cronus never gets his demo CD to go Platinum. Tell your story in some trashy Lifetime movie and be on several episodes of those Investigation Discovery shows that Rose and Kanaya love to marathon on Netflix. Fucking—._ '

But nope, that swirling darkness at the edges of his vision has other plans. The stars above Karkat begin to dance, but not in the magical Disneyland way. More in the 'I'm bleeding out and coughing blood and I'm probably going to pass out and then die' way caused by natural dizziness and vision twofold that Sollux liked to talk about when he would get migraines and hit Karkat for the sin of existing.

"Your existence is loud," he'd say.

Karkat smiled into those dark swirls, watching them group and shutter back into smoke. He was thinking about his friends a lot, and for some odd reason, it was comforting to do so as his pulse slipped under and began to beat at a sluggish pace.

He closed his eyes and thought about Kanaya, about the way her lap felt below his head and her perfume and the way it smelled mixed up with her girlfriend's. He thought about John and their movie marathons and their constant trash-talking of one another. He thought about Dave and the way the nape of his neck was so vulnerable after a haircut and about how weird that was to think about when he was dying. The view from his dad's shoulders when he was a little kid. His brother's face screwed up and red as Karkat barked laughter. The sound of the cat bell hanging on Terezi's walking stick. Feferi's curls. The stickers of Tavros' wheelchair. Nepeta and Equius sitting on a park bench at the last Fourth of July, holding sparklers—

Karkat realized he was sobbing and opened his eyes, wailing a little in pain. No way. No fucking way. He _refused_ to die there with all of his dumbass friends having to haul him into the grave.

But, even as his vision came back into focus, that dark smoke on the edge of his vision was still present. It was no longer the same shade of cobalt that it had been when it was smoldering after the summoning of the demon—it had turned shades darker, to plum. It was thicker, too, less of a fog machine smoke and more of an oil fire. Karkat scrambled up onto his palms, staring down at his chest in bewilderment. The knife still stuck out from the center, wet blood surrounding it and darkening his sweater—but the wound was void of pain. It wasn't the same white-hot blade of numbness that had taken over with the adrenaline, but it was simply void of pain. Karkat stared down at the sigils, finding them glowing a bright amethyst. The forked 'm' that he had accidentally erased and replaced with a random symbol from his mind was the most illuminated. Karkat's heart sunk.

"Oh _fuck_."

The plum-colored smoke, which was swirling around him clockwise began to twirl in the other direction rapidly, embracing Karkat in a tall cocoon before crashing down on the bridge below him. Karkat fell to his side, scrambling away as quickly as he could before the collapsed smoke gained depth, swirling at the edges to become a portal. What the _cocksucking twink_ had he done? Even if he _had_ managed to summon some astrological demon he hadn't even said any of that Latin horseshit—

A curse word.

A. _Curse_. Word.

Of all the _fucking_ times to open his _goddamn_ mouth—

A single hand reached out of the portal—though it was more like a set of five claws connected to a vaguely hand-shaped shadow—and hooked on to the wood at its edge. The demon lifted itself out of the portal, reaching out for Karkat with its other hand and grabbing for a handhold on the knife. The boy sat paralyzed, letting it happen as his mind recoiled in horror in his place. It didn't even hurt as the— _thing_ hefted itself out of the portal fully by the hilt of the knife. And from the weight of the _thing_ , that was impressive. Goddamn Cutco knives.

Karkat began to laugh hysterically at his own brain's fear-induced antics as the demon hauled itself up to its impressive height above him. Not that it was hard to be taller than Karkat— _man_ his internal monologue was full of zingers when he was scared shitless and laying in front of a demon.

It was covered in a thick layer of the same dense smokey material that it had emerged from—or maybe it was _made_ of it, it was hard to tell.

There seemed to only be several parts of it not made up of the smoke: its eyes glowing with the same intensity of the sigils, pulsating shades of scarlet and plum; its claws, black but definite against the rest of its foggy outline; a pair of terrible horns curling up and _up_ , shining wetly; and perhaps most awful was the stark white rows of thin, sharp teeth stretching uncannily below its eyes.

It crumpled back down onto its haunches and began to crawl towards Karkat, tilting its head to the side. Curls of smoke—its hair, he realized—tilted to the side along with its movements and evanesced off of its head as it leaned forward towards him. Karkat began to backpedal, shrieking as a sudden pain ripped through his chest. The demon lunged towards him, securing its claws around his thigh and dragging him back towards him in a single, pants-shitting lurch. The pain instantly vanished.

"I wouldn't be up and leaving the summoning array, brother," the demon rasped. Its mouth of reptile teeth never moved, voice echoing behind Karkat's temple instead, "Not before the deal is set, you hear?"

Though the stark contrast between blurring consciousness and sudden, sharp awareness was disorienting, Karkat didn't miss the implications, "You—." He choked behind his typical, loud bravado, "You seem pretty sure about me making a deal."

The demon shrugged—a silky movement of smoke riding to the sides of his head despite the fact that he remained on all fours, and otherwise completely stationary, "I don't see why the fuck not. You didn't mean to up and summon me, but you ain't got no reason not to get your deal on."

Karkat sat for a moment, attempting to puzzle out the double negatives before speaking.

"Oh?" His breath cracked a little despite himself and the demon laughed, its low growl of a voice rattling in Karkat's chest.

"Brother, your death wasn't a necessity in that other bro's plans," it—he?—began, "You bleed out and die here, you donate your fluids and be on your merry way. Doesn't matter. He's got what he wants. A bit of virgin smeared on the old bridge."

"What the _fuck_ does that have to do with anything?" Karkat demanded, scooting as far away from the creature as humanly possible without exiting the purple glow of the summoning circle. It sounded to Karkat like he was biding his time.

"What I'm saying is," it slipped closer towards him in an elegant plume of smoke and suddenly Karkat could see the little imperfections on its white teeth—see them shining with saliva and smell the maw behind them stinking with carnivore breath, "We won't be impeding on spider sis' contract if I make a bad deal with you brother—what I'm saying is, you shake this motherfucker's hand or your life up and runs out." He shrugged again, this time bothering to move his arms instead of just manipulating the smoke his body was made of, "What. I'm. Motherfucking. Saying. Is. Either way, I'm going to make a mad meal of your soul bits once you die."

Karkat's stomach roiled. Perfect. He was demon chow either way—unless it was lying of course.

"What if," he licked his lips, "What if I don't want you to eat my soul."

The glowing portals of the demon's eyes swelled from slits to perfect circles, making it—if possible—even more inhuman and disturbing, "Clever brother I've got here," he mused more to himself, "Not many think to ask. But yeah, since you asked: you got three choices." He raised one of his giant paws, holding up three black claws. He wriggled the first, "Best way to screw a brother over is giving up your soul to me when you die. Second," he flicked his middle finger up and down in an unsubtle gesture towards the first option, "You give me your mind. Soul and body stay intact, but they're my motherfucking puppets to play with. And third," his round eyes contracted and expanded, grin actually, _literally curling_ at the edges as he moved the last finger in a 'come-hither' motion, "You give me your body."

Karkat felt his pulse drop into his stomach, "Body." He repeated with as little fear as he could muster, "And if my soul gets eaten, and my mind controlled, my body would be—."

" _Mine_." The demon hissed licentiously, lunging towards Karkat just a bit, "I'd up and have you brother, spill myself into you, get myself all good and curled up in those wicked little limbs—up in you so deep and fully that there's no end to me and you."

"Oh." Karkat repeated flatly.

"Tick-tock brother." It chirped back at him, one of its fingers jabbed towards Karkat's chest and he looked down to see the knife wrench itself from his chest and fly out of the demon circle. It caused him no pain, but the torrent of blood that it had been holding in sent a phantom slice of horror through his chest all the same. "Pretty soon you'll bleed out and your soul's mine for the eating either way. What's it going to be? Gonna die as food?" It crawled even closer, leaning down so that the literal orbs of purple light were lined with Karkat's eyes, "As a poppet?" It lunged, almost closing the distance between them—Karkat could feel its hot breath on his face as it rasped in his mind: "Or _mine_?" It leaned back then, eyes scrunching up into joyful little slits. "Better make your decision brother, time's on my side."

With each dimming pulse, the hole in Karkat's chest issued forth a little torrent of blood. The demon literally had him trapped—soul was no-go, since it was just going to eat him either way—why was he even _considering_ the bargain, it could have been a lie—mind was just as good as being a living corpse—and _body_ was—

Karkat looked at the hulking creature made of smoke, trembled and thrust out his hand.

Body was a temporary thing—just lay back, think of England and—

"You can have my body." He said with far more clarity than he was certain he could muster in the moment.

"In exchange for what?" The demon hesitated, perfectly still.

"In exchange for my life! For keeping me alive!" Karkat shouted hysterically, all but lunging towards the demon. Its maw finally opened to reveal a shining purple tongue that slid over its top row of teeth like a cannibal inspecting its prey and it lunged forth.

Karkat squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself for impact, instead finding himself brushed by what he could only describe as a fog rain before being seized around the calves by twin clawed hands and yanked forward. His eyes snapped open and the last thing he saw was the portal engulfing him before he was drug down into velvety blackness. And then, a second later, he made impact with a surprisingly cushy surface.

As he opened his eyes, Karkat dimly realized that he had been holding his forearms in front of his face—body gone rigid in terror and expectation. Hesitantly, he lowered them and blinking in the hazy half-light pouring down on him from a conspicuously familiar lamp in the corner. Karkat whipped his head around, looking at the dresser next to it—a black IKEA model dinged up and covered in old soccer trophies and attendance awards. There was a corkboard on the closet door caddy-corner to it displaying photos of his friends, fortune cookie papers, and ticket stubs. The sheets and pillows of the bed below him were contorted into an awful nest. It was his bedroom.

Karkat's hands flew to his chest, finding it surprisingly dry and hole-less. Taking a deep breath he flopped down onto the pillows and pulled himself into the fetal position. Even as his mind worked to convince him that the whole ordeal had been a dream, Karkat knew that it most certainly had not been. The sensations had been too real—the glowing sigils and the demon's eyes, the chill still worked under his flesh, the sensation of the knife in his chest—he was absolutely certain of everything that had happened. But where was the demon?

"Nice room you've got here, Karbro."

Karkat nearly launched himself off of the side of his bed in horror as a form made itself present beside him. It had the same rumbly voice that had sounded off in his brain moments before, but it was sounding off from the throat of a very solid presence on his mattress. Karkat heaved several deep breaths as he glanced over the demon. It had—apparently—settled into a human form: a spindly-limbed young man hardly older than he with a dark shag of curls falling around his inhumanly plum-colored eyes. His horns still jutted from the crown of his head, however, and the claws were still present at the tips of his fingers—though no more than avian hooks rising out of the nail bed. Besides that, he was dressed inexplicably causally in a pair of jeans and a dirty hoodie. Karkat nearly hit him for having his sneakers on his bed, but thought better of it as soon as the demon opened his mouth and began to pick at the (thankfully more petite) set of razor-thin teeth.

Karkat's mouth opened and closed several times, attempting to produce something of value before he finally ground out: "Are we really in my fucking room?"

The demon looked at him lazily, and Karkat nearly felt stupid for being afraid of this thing moments before. His eyes were slightly glazed over, giving him an almost animal absentmindedness—the sheen of a stoner who'd seen a few too many pipes in his day.

"Huh? Naw, this is hell." The demon responded as if he were remarking on the weather. _This week in hell, expect fire and brimstone raining down on the souls of the damned for a solid twenty-four hours. Next week, its great weather to take the wife and kids to the plutonian shore for fun and fried remains of animal abusers!_

"Oh." Said Karkat, finding himself absent of all his usual mouth-foaming rage in the face of his eternal doom and impending loss of virginity. "Uhm. Forever?"

"Naw brother, just until we get the parameters set. This not your dig for hell contracts?" The demon arched his hands backwards and stretched them out before him, cracking the knuckles wickedly.

"I'd," Karkat licked his lips. Meulin would love to smoke a bowl with a chill-ass stoner demon like this—oh look, the wicked stress-induced zingers had been back for a while, how about that? "I'd really not want to associate my room with—what's going to happen." ' _With the unholy reaming my stupid ass is about to get from a hell demon in like three minutes_.' His brain filled in helpfully.

The demon hopped off of the bed and shrugged once more—suddenly, its constant inhuman-looking shrugs from earlier seemed much lazier than threatening. He raised a clawed hand and snapped, causing the room to take a violent lurch. The colors around Karkat spun and the bed around him expanded, the sheets snaking under him to form another preposterous nest in black and deep purple. Four wooden posters swathed in dark silks erupted from the edges of the bed and the light of the lamp gave way to dark red candles flickering with deep purple flame. Something told him that whatever gave off purple light when burned probably wasn't healthy to breathe in. Regardless, the mirrors swathed in purple gossamer and creepy candlelight lent much more into the hell theme than Karkat's dirty bedroom and soccer trophies that he'd earned when he was nine—though the atmosphere seemed more Rose-worthy than something he'd expect the stoner demon to conjure up.

However, Karkat wasn't about to push his luck by asking for another adjustment in scenery. The demon seemed busy, walking over to a black podium and picking up a piece of parchment paper. He turned to Karkat—who was still sitting awkwardly in the sheets like a child awaiting an adult to scold him—and handed him the paper. On it, inscribed in Chaucerian calligraphy, was the contract:

 _On This Day, 13 September 2014, KARKAT VANTAS does give his FLESH to GAMZEE MAKARA ARCHEDUKE OF THE FIFTH CIRLE OF HELL in exchange for THE CONTINUATION OF HIS LIFE AND REPARATION OF HIS MORTAL FLESH until natural death at the hands of outside forces*._

 _Signed on this date by_

 **gAmZeE mAkArA**

 _and_

* _Including but not limited to the attacks of other demons, vehicle-related accidents, various hell shenanigans, equine stampedes, faerie circles, cancer, and green M &Ms. Refer to complementary pamphlet 'Faustian Contracts and You' upon completion of contract for full list of terms and conditions._

Karkat stared down at the blank space where his signature was supposed to go, up at the demon—who was apparently named Gamzee and who had horrible handwriting, and back down at the odd list following the asterisk.

"What about green M&Ms?" He asked.

"What do you think, brother?" Gamzee rumbled, leaning down onto the bed over Karkat, supporting his weight on the palms which fell over either side of him, "Sound good enough for you? Can't keep you here long without you signing this bad motherfuck—time's on my side and you still got your lifeblood down and hanging on a string, right over that brook."

He snapped and Karkat's vision went black. For a moment he could see himself lying dead in a puddle of blood on the bridge. His insides clouded with horror as his current reality came back into focus, along with Gamzee's face. He was smiling at Karkat—eyes half-lidded, lips closed, but the tips of his fangs poking out over them in a small but strong reminder of the situation at hand. Karkat swallowed.

"Where's a pen?" He croaked, voice sounding as chapped as his lips were going to be after all this awkward lip-licking on his part.

Gamzee shifted, grasping Karkat's chin between his cool finger and thumb, "Ain't got to need for one."

They kissed in what was more of an awkward press of cold-on-dry closed lips, and Karkat heard the paper crackle in his hand. They pulled away and he glanced down, only to see his name fanning out in his handwriting over the provided line in glossy red that-definitely-isn't-ink.

Out of nowhere, a shiny pamphlet plopped down on Karkat's chest as Gamzee rolled back up to stand. Karkat grasped it and held it out in front of him. The cover bore a picture of a conservatively-dressed, smiling middle-aged woman next to a handsome young man with what had to be the most generic red devil horns money could buy. ' _Faustian Contracts and You'_ was emblazoned over them in loopy white letters. Karkat flipped open to the first page of the pamphlet, displaying a girl with glowing red eyes and a mouth full of braces: ' _Welcome!_ ' the text read in a chipper font, ' _Congratulations on your first Faustian contract!_ '

Karkat skimmed the brochure, flipping through the pages of the dead-eyed contracted and their sinister guarantors until he found the appropriate page: ' _Contracts of the Flesh'_. Gamzee plopped down beside him roughly, resting a cheek on Karkat's shoulder. He almost shook it off, but knowing that a veritable mouth full of razors was a hair's breadth away from his jugular did not help him feel any more comfortable with pushing the demon away.

' _Contracts of the flesh (more commonly known as contracts of the 'body') are the rarest form of contract due to the undertaking both demon and charge are required to submit to. On the eve of the contract's formation, the two will bind to one another—flesh, body, and soul—for all eternity. However, if the charge is below the age of consent, the binding will not take place until the time that they come of age._

 _However, if you're over eighteen—look out! You've got a wild night ahead of you. Here are some tips and tricks for making your entrance into eternal damnation a more pleasurable experience for you and your partner:_ '

Releasing a hysterical laugh, Karkat flipped to the next page and was met with what he could only assume was a detailed medical-grade chart of demon anatomy. He promptly threw the booklet over one shoulder and himself into the pillows of the bed, disturbing Gamzee's perch upon his shoulder. The demon released a muffled bleat into Karkat's pant leg, making him laugh even harder as he ran his fingers through his hair, trembling violently.

"Oh my fuck," he laughed, "Oh my pus-licking anus _fuck_."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Things got kind of crazy when Eridan's older brother offered Karkat a ride home and ended up using him as a virgin sacrifice in order to score a record deal.

Then, a mindless scribble and subsequent curse word ended with Karkat in the lap of a demon who is about to bone him.

Last but not least, a graphically detailed pamphlet about Faustian contracts fell on Karkat's lap and is about to inform him about the parameters of demon sex.

And that's what you missed on "According to Karkat".

Fingers trembling, Karkat continued to flip through the pages of the pamphlet, which was now proving to me much more of a booklet than a brochure as page after page of kama-sutra-level demon fucking was revealed to him in glorious Ikea cartoon figure detail. Karkat would never look at Swedes the same way again.

Meanwhile, the demon—Gamzee—was making content-sounded growling hums as he rested his chin on Karkat's shoulder like they were the best of buddies. Dave would do that sometimes, and it would drive Karkat absolutely insane from both the way Strider's jaw would dig into his shoulder whenever he talked and the distracting scent of clove oranges radiating off of him like he was a character in a bad romance novel.

But as of this moment, Karkat was far less inclined to shove Gamzee off of his shoulder like he would with Dave, mostly due in part to the shiny rows of needle teeth several inches from his jugular.

As he flipped past the dead-eyed, blithely smiling Ikea stickmen contorted into something called " _THE STICKY DRAGON_ " (Terezi would like that), Karkat tried to calm himself by thinking of all the ways this could have gone exponentially worse. Not that it wasn't _already_ exponentially worse as far as rides home went. But at least the demon had assumed an admittedly attractive human form and Karkat wasn't about to be the babymama of a tentacle-bearing Eldritch Horror ( _Rose_ would like _that_ ).

Or, you know. At least he _hoped_.

Finally, the Ikea men seemed to have exhausted themselves—the pages upon pages of sex positions ended with " _THE WHIRLYBIRD_ " and gave way to a neat little article.

 **Parameters of Contract Binding**

 **Once the covenant is forged with both participants' soul signatures, the contractee is guaranteed their half of the bargain immediately. The contract must be consummated within thirteen days of the forging.**

 **In order for consummation to be recognized, both participants much reach orgasm due to the assistance of one another. Full nudity and at least one instance of skin-on-skin contact are required of both parties. Kissing is not required. Penetration is not required.**

 **List of acceptable situations include: unclothed frottage, handjobs, blowjobs, rimjobs, fingering of the vagina or anus, penetration of the vagina or anus, or intercrural sex (thigh sex).**

 **NOTICE: Ocular Sex or "Skullfucking" is no longer an acceptable form of consummation as per the Respect of Skulls Act 1793.**

Karkat set down the booklet on the bedside table made of charred bones and black marble, attempting not to let the pages rattle with the trembling of his fingers. He felt the demon turn his head towards him, breath hot in Karkat's ear, although he remained silent.

Trying not to let the wet-hot breath settle into a tremble, Karkat attempted to clear his mind while he had the chance: the demon had brought him here to carry out the consummation although Karkat apparently had thirteen days for the deed to be done. But, all things considered, it was just better to get it out of the way rather than crumble under nearly-two-weeks of fretting and anxiety. If Karkat knew himself—and he liked to think he did, at least a little—he'd just about kill himself with worrying anyway, and then all bets were off (as according to the green M&Ms disclaimer). It was easier to just let it happen now. Just lay back and think of Da—England. Daengland.

Karkat's heart was hammering in his chest and he released a giggle that was far closer to manic than nervous. What a beautiful time to avoid coming to terms with the crush he'd had for four years. To his surprise, a massive hand slithered up his back and cupped him around his shoulder. Gamzee pulled Karkat closer to him, pressing his cheek up against his and rubbing it in a circle.

"You all up and chill, bro?" He rasped, "Don't need to get all up in your business now. Get your chill on—we can crack a Faygo if you'd like."

"What?" Karkat all but hiccupped, his voice doing its best impression of puberty. Karkat's Greatest Hits 2009.

"A Faygo, motherfucker," the demon explained as if it were the simplest concept on earth. Karkat had no idea what kind of satanic… _thing_ a "Faygo" was. Gamzee suggested cracking it. The skull of a lesser demon, maybe?

Before the human could protest, Gamzee had released him and had rolled sideways off of the bed. He crawled across the floor in a way that much more 'drunk roll' than it was 'demonic slither' and popped open a little dark box that Karkat had assumed was a vault full of virgin tears, but was actually just a mini-fridge. Inside were stacks of glass bottles all laid sideways, bottlecaps facing front. Gamzee pulled out two bright red ones and closed the door, using his fangs to pry off the bottlecaps. He used his freakishly long arms to set them onto of the mini-fridge and took to his feet before gathering them up and delivering one to Karkat.

The human turned the bottle in his hands, squinting as recognition poked at the side of his head. He'd seen these whenever Dave's brother Dirk had dragged them to BevMo to get a shit load of obscure orange sodas. Assuming they were safe, he took a tentative sip and found that the drink was pleasantly not-blood-flavored, but rather on the refreshing side. Still, it was pretty sweet, and he would probably vomit from drinking more than two in a row. Nervously he nursed his beverage as Gamzee ambled about the room, digging through a giant steamer trunk full of vinyls that probably pre-dated Karkat's dad.

As the demon fucked around with his records, Karkat stared down into the neck of his bottle of Faygo, like the strawberry soda held all the secrets of the world. There were no dawning realizations, however, just the usual onslaught of howling embarrassment that would usually end up with Karkat contorting himself into positions that would make Linda Blair jealous and spewing mix-and-match cuss words that typically made Equius foam at the mouth.

However, this was not an appropriate setting for "Karkat Tantrum Ballet", which only helped Karkat to internalize his anxiety in a violent whirlpool of catastrophic thought that started with "demon sex" and ended with "dead and/or homeless".

Karkat had never had sex before, a well-known fact amongst his friend group that had undoubtedly ended up with him smeared over the sacrifice bridge. He'd dated Terezi on-and-off from sixth to ninth grade, but that had led to nothing more than hand-holding and a few awkward kisses. He'd tried to tongue kiss her at homecoming their freshman and ended up with a bruise on his tongue (apparently this was possible) for his troubles. Ever since then, things had gotten awkward and Karkat busied himself in theater tech and screaming obscenities at Dave Strider (aforementioned crush) for the next four years. Although he liked to think of himself as romantically savvy (see: every harlequin romance novel paperback squirreled away under his bed), Karkat still had a propensity to fly into hysterics every time his own romantic investments were brought up—even more so when sex was on the table. Eight-year-old Karkat had about launched himself out of his beanbag chair when his father had come to him one day with a book on puberty and sex.

And here he was, about to lose his virginity (potentially only kind of he guessed?) to a complete stranger.

Also, you know, a fucking demon.

Karkat started at the sound of an electric guitar. He turned his head, all about hyperventilating, as Gamzee took a step away from a record player perched on one of the black pieces of furniture decking the room. He was bobbing his head along to "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band _"_.

"You like that shit bro?" He asked, grinning toothily at Karkat, who would have expected to lose his virginity to the sound of Damien Rice's plaintive crooning (particularly "The Blower's Daughter" as Dave dragged his lips down Karkat's stomach), not Ringo Starr experiencing an album-length acid trip on LP.

"Uh," said Karkat. Gamzee crawled onto the bed and sidled up to Karkat, who took a moment to get a good, hard look at him.

His skin was even, tan, and flawless, unreal purple eyes half-lidded and framed by dark curls. His overall expression erred on the side of dopey, made unnerving by the tips of razor-sharp fangs peeking out between his dark lips. Karkat couldn't tell much in accordance to body type, but Gamzee was tall and—while floating in his dirty hoodie and jeans—seemed a little on the lanky side. Overall, he was attractive in that generic 'hot stoner' way, but the dark horns jutting from the mess of curls called up images of that smoke-in-water creature with its perfect-circle eyes and massive maw. Karkat outright trembled like a heroine in one of his shit romance novels ("His Dark Intentions" Scarlet Romance Novels Special Edition Master's Series #49).

Gamzee seemed to catch onto the movement and leaned back into the pillows, his half-lidded eyes taking on a literal glow as his lips curled up. Karkat's felt his heart turn into cottage cheese.

The demon reached out and brushed his fingers down the side of Karkat's face in a bizarrely affectionate gesture, "So," he began in that chest-rumbling voice, buzzing and charismatic, "You up to getting it on here and now, bro?"

Karkat's hysteric laugh exacted its revenge, along with several other surprise laughs of the same caliber. Gamzee smiled at his laughter although it was bizarrely genuine, not mocking.

' _Shit, let's be a romance novel_!' Dave's voice said in Karkat's head, shockingly out of place in this dingy room in hell, clear as a bell amongst Lucy who was currently In the Sky with Diamonds.

"Yeah!" Karkat all but shrieked, "Fuck it, yeah—let's do it!"

 **(THIS SCENE HAS BEEN REDACTED DUE TO 'S GUIDELINES. PLEASE IMAGINE A LOT OF SEXY DEMON SEX.)**

They'd been laying still for a while when the LP ran out and began to skip, jerking Karkat back into full consciousness. He realized that he'd all but dozed off and Gamzee had just returned to the bed with a wet towel, which he was currently going over Katkat's thighs with.

"You don't have to," Karkat said sleepily. Gamzee shook his head and made an 'it's no big deal' kind of gesture, pulling Karkat out of the puddle of cum he'd left on the bed. Well that mattress was done for.

It wasn't until Gamzee was toweling Karkat dry that the gravity of the situation hit him.

It was like receiving a semi-truck to the bottom of his stomach. What the fuck? _What the fuck_? Cronus had stabbed him and left him for dead—he'd been contracted to a fucking demon—he'd just pretty much lost his goddamn virginity—and to top it all off he was naked.

Karkat grabbed his pants and boxers away from Gamzee, hopping into them with a little more gusto than he usually would use for dressing himself. He yanked his teeshirt and sweater over his head, heartrate increasing by the second. He could feel it in his throat, like a snake of bad news had welled itself up through his stomach.

' _You done fucked up now, kiddo_ ,' it said.

Karkat stood in the middle of what he could only assume was Gamzee's room, wishing desperately to be home in his own bed—not one Gamzee had conjured up. The demon was sitting on the bed behind him, shirtless and looking pensive.

"You all good?"

"Yeah." Karkat said thinly, although it probably came across more as weak. "Can I go home now?"

Gamzee shrugged, lolling his neck from side to side, "Don't suppose why not."

' _I'll never see him again_.' Karkat thought, and instantly felt selfish. It wasn't as if he was going to miss the demon, it was just pity for himself. Losing it to a stranger he'd never see again. Whatever the situation that was still pretty low on the list of things Karkat wanted to do with his life.

"How do I—?"

"Right through that door, bro."

Gamzee gestured and where he pointed a black door had suddenly materialized. Karkat jumped a little before pulling the drawstrings on his hoodie a little tighter.

"I guess," Karkat choked. He could already feel the tears stinging the back of his nose. "Well, bye."

"Bye, bro." Gamzee said casually. Karkat didn't bother looking back until he was through the door and found himself in his front yard. He turned around, suddenly face-to-face with the gate that led into his backyard. It was painted white and overgrown with jasmine, like it always was.

Everything about the room in hell—about that entire night—seemed so far away.

Karkat shuffled around the side of the house, digging in his pockets for his house keys. They weren't needed, however, because as soon as he activated the motion-sensor porch lights, his brother swung open the front door.

" _Kar_ kat," Kankri said, as aghast as ever, "Do you _know_ what time it is?"

"Uh," Karkat replied eloquently.

"You have a cellphone for a _reason_."

Karkat's hand sought his pocket before he remembered Cronus had chucked it into the creek. But—oddly enough—it was there, back from the dead. Like him. He pressed the square button; 5:23 glowed back at him in white.

"Oh _fuck me_ ," Karkat swore, he looked up at Kankri, "Is Dad—."

"Asleep." Kankri replied as he stepped aside to let Karkat in, but not before making a great show of rolling his eyes. "He went to sleep at _eleven._ He said you're an adult and you can make good decisions, even if you stay out until morning."

Karkat looked at his shoes, not exactly sure if 'fucking a demon to save his own life' fell into the category of 'good decisions'. His dad was too good.

"I, personally, believe that as long as you're living under our father's roof, you should at least respect him enough to come home at a reasonable time." Kankri continued to lecture as they scaled the stairs. This time, Karkat made a great show of rolling _his_ eyes, although it was behind his brother's back.

"Yes, I love you too, Kankri," Karkat said as they came to the top of the stairs. He paused, watching as his brother went towards his room. "Hey."

Kankri paused, hand perched upon the doorframe, "Yes?" He looked back at Karkat.

"Thank you." Karkat said quietly. "For staying up all night waiting for me."

Kankri frowned and turned fully towards Karkat, putting a hand on his shoulder, "Are… are you alright? Did something happen—?"

"Nothing happened." Karkat lied, not bothering to shake off his brother's hand, "I just. Appreciate it. You're a good brother."

Kankri scowled, "What happened?"

" _Nothing_ , you chitin-infused cumstain." Karkat sniped, "Can't I tell my brother that I love him?"

Kankri looked at Karkat impassively, "You shouldn't drink so much."

' _I thought about you while I was dying_.' "Go fuck yourself."

The older Vantas heaved a dramatic sigh, turning back towards his bedroom door, "Good _night_ , Karkat."

Karkat stomped towards his own room, "Night."

Very softly, so Karkat could hardly hear, Kankri said: "I love you, too, Karkat."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Karkat woke late the next morning to the sound of Kankri starting the shower. Considering the ways he'd been waking up recently (in a puddle of his own blood, to the sound of a record ending in hell), it was shockingly uneventful. He stared jealously in the direction of the bathroom, having planned on exfoliating himself past the point of no return the second he woke up. Even after being wiped down the night before and changing into a clean(ish) pair of pajamas, he still felt dirty. Borderline violated.

Idly, Karkat wondered if he had the right to feel violated, having given his consent—but had he really had a choice? The word 'rape' didn't feel right, even settling in his thoughts. Rape wasn't supposed to feel good. Did it count as rape if you had multiple orgasms? With a laugh, Karkat rolled over and buried his face into his nasty pillows. Maybe he should have listened to Kankri's rants about consent instead of screeching over him.

Karkat stared deeply into his pillow, apparently still feeling the urge to seek deeper meaning in inanimate objects. But despite his efforts, he couldn't well up enough feelings of violation to sob into his pillow like a tortured heroine in a romance novel ("Where the Lupine Blossomed" Scarlet Romance Novels Diamond Series #7). Instead, he just felt generally sticky and sad. Also tired. He couldn't have slept for more than five and a half hours.

He rolled again, shifting his hips and managing to contort himself into a position that he hoped would help him inexplicably cope with his feelings. Maybe he should be feeling worse about the whole 'virgin sacrifice' thing. The whole detail about almost being successfully murdered. It wasn't like Karkat could go to the police about it ("You're saying he stabbed you in the chest?" "I got better."), and then there was the whole detail about not being dead. Cronus would be watching the news like a hawk—leaving Karkat dead on the bridge hadn't been the most inconspicuous of murder scenes and some poor bastard would have been bound to find him. There was probably still blood everywhere and Karkat didn't feel like answering questions about why his bodily fluids were smeared across the bridge in the event that DNA testing led back to him. It really didn't have any reason to, considering he wasn't dead.

Stupidly, he resolved to go back out to the bike trails and check out the scene. If worse came to worse, he would just clean it up himself and if anyone stopped to ask about him desperately scrubbing gallons of blood off of a notorious murder bridge, he'd request a DNA test and claim that he'd suffered a particularly violent nosebleed.

Karkat laughed hollowly at the idea, thinking that it might be something Dave would come up with. Before he could stop himself, he'd reached out to his side table and was holding his cellphone. Would Dave believe him? He was the closest thing Karkat had to a best friend who still lived in town (the other being a homeless man in the park who referred to himself as 'The Mayor of Can Town' and the other being John Fucking Egbert who had went away to Ashland to study drama). He'd probably just laugh and then become concerned for Karkat's mental health when he insisted it was real. For a horrible second Karkat imagined Dave's pale face contorted in laughter as he crawled to his laptop and produced 'Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff In: The Sacripice' ("The riDE HOME RUS E WAS A DISTACTION").

Karkat set his phone back down and managed to crawl out of bed and escape his room. Kankri was—of course—still showering, and singing Taylor Swift like he hadn't a care in the world (his opinion of her had recently changed from 'problematic' to 'a genuinely good person' after he'd discovered her Tumblr via a cookie recipe). Downstairs, he could hear the sound of someone moving around in the kitchen. Karkat went down the side stairs that led straight into the kitchen and peeked into the breakfast nook. Karkat's dad's girlfriend Ms. Leijon was spending her lunch break with the family. She was sitting at the table, pleasantly scanning the headlines, while his dad was grilling sandwiches and mumbling to himself. Karkat reached out and knocked on the table to get Ms. Leijon's attention; she stared up at the reverberations.

" _Good morning_." Karkat signed.

" _Good morning_ ," Nepeta's mother signed back, " _Did you sleep well last night?_ "

Karkat nodded his fist in an up-and-down motion: " _Yes."_ He placed two thumbs-up in front of himself, fists held together, and flicked the right thumb forward, left back before pointing at Ms. Leijon with raised eyebrows.

" _I'm doing well, thank you_ ," she responded.

Mr. Vantas walked over to the breakfast nook, carrying two plates of grilled cheese. He set them down on the table and began to sign to Karkat, as to not leave his girlfriend out of the conversation.

" _What time did you come home last night?_ "

"Uh," Karkat said out loud. " _Late_ ," he signed.

Ms. Leijon laughed and Karkat's dad rolled his eyes. Karkat laughed too, the normalcy of the situation feeling absurd. He scooted into the breakfast nook across from Ms. Leijon and dragged a plate of grilled cheese towards himself.

Karkat ate in silence while his dad and Ms. Leijon continued to converse in ASL. He eventually checked his phone, finding a missed text message from that night.

"Did you get home safe," Dave had inquired.

' _No_ ' Karkat thought.

"YEAH" Karkat typed.

 **Xxxxxxxx**

After lunch, Karkat had decided to bite the bullet and go out to the bridge to assess the damage. He'd managed to get a quick look at the local newspaper Ms. Leijon had been reading, but there was nothing about a brutal murder scene on the front page. Either they hadn't found it fast enough to hit the presses or the new pool at the aquatics center was really that fucking fantastic (it did boast a waterslide).

The back roads that led up to the biking trail where the bridge was were thankfully void of any cop cars, caution tape, or CSI vans. Karkat pulled his shit-tastic Neon into a dirt patch off of the side of the rode where bikers would park their cars before going out onto the trails. The paths themselves were eerily cheery, full of the kind of birdsongs and squirrel chitters that made up the backtracking for old Disney movies. Karkat was passed by several bikers locked and loaded with Go-Pros and serious expressions. Not one of them stopped to warn him about a bloodsoaked bridge. It was a violent contrast to being dragged through the woods at one in the morning, gagged and screeching into the cotton.

Suddenly, Karkat was awash with dread. What if Cronus had come back to check on the scene of the crime? Would he be waiting there for Karkat with a switchblade? Would he crawl into Karkat's window in the middle of the night to gut him and keep his mouth shut?

The trees suddenly looked very much like the oaks in Snow White—their limbs mean fingers, the knots in their trunks frightening faces. Karkat's heart started hammering, a part of him begging to go back. The other pushed him forward, the curiousity all but killing him.

Eventually, the bridge came into view, painted pristine white to cover up the graffiti and upside-down pentagons that had covered it over the years. There was no summoning sigil in the center, no blood to be seen anywhere on the bridge or in the creek. There was absolutely nothing to show that someone had been there at all last night, least of all sacrificed.

Karkat knelt down to the approximate place where Gamzee had heaved himself out of the hell portal and onto the bridge, his fingers brushing over the wood. A prick hit his finger and he hissed out a " _fuck_ ", drawing the splintered fingertip up to his mouth.

"Are you alright?"

Karkat started, legs scrambling below him as he strugged to get up and managed to faceplant onto the bridge. There was soft giggling behind him. He managed to roll onto his ass and crabwalk a few steps away.

Standing on the bridge was a girl who couldn't have been past her mid-twenties. She was dressed in a blue sundress and white crochet top, the ensemble completed with a floppy white sunhat. There was something about her facial features that reminded Karkat of a girl he'd been to high school with.

Karkat pushed himself to his feet, sucking out the splinter and spitting it over the side of the bridge, "No it's good I'm alright."

The girl stood still, continuing to smile serenely at Karkat. It looked sweet, but it was unnerving.

"I—," Karkat started, "You look really familiar."

"Oh?" The girl cocked her head. "Do I?"

"Yeah, you look like this girl I went to high school with."

"I have a cousin that lives around here," she raised a finger to her cheek and tapped it thoughtfully. She was wearing big white cat eye glasses, "Maybe we met through her."

"Maybe." Karkat said. She was doing nothing particularly threatening, but his pulse was rocketing nevertheless.

"Well," she said, dropping her hands. "It's been good seeing you, Karkat."

"Yeah it's—." Karkat froze.

The girl smiled, revealing a pair of elongated canines. Fangs.

Karkat realized where he'd seen her. She'd coalesced out of the tarlike bile he'd vomited—the torso of a human perched on the body of a massive spider, three extra smaller eyes on either side of her existing ones, glittering yellow in the half-light, dark horns the shape of a stinger and pincer jutting from her head.

"What's the matter?" The demoness asked, turning in place as Karkat inched past her like a terrified cat.

"I—." he choked, backpedaling as fast as he could down the path.

"Oh, Karkat," her fanged smile brightened and she tipped her head to the side, "You don't have to worry about me attacking you—not right now at least. Cronus sent me here with instructions to check on the crime scene, and due to the nature of our contract I can't act outside of the parameters of his orders."

Well that was fucking helpful to know. And also _fucking terrifying_. The second the demoness went back to run her mouth to Cronus, Karkat was dead meat. Nevertheless, he didn't elect to voice these emotions, chosing to gape at Aranea in the same way he did when Kankri went on a rant.

"I am genuinely curious who you managed to contract with, however," she went on, crossing the bridge towards Karkat, "And impressed you managed to contact them in the first place. But that just makes this game all the more interesting, doesn't it?"

'Not really, no.' Karkat's internal monologue supplied, but his external monologue was more of a very soft, if high pitched " _Eeeeee_ ," Noise.

"Though it is a shame you aren't dead," she continued, this time tapping her lip with her fingertip. They were a deep shade of bluish-red—like blood, "Because, you see, the more blood spilled from the virgin sacrifice, the stronger my covenant with Cronus grows," Her fangs reappeared, bright white between her blood-colored lips, "And that still counts, although you aren't a virgin anymore."

Whoop, there it was.

Ladies and gentleman, Karkat Tantrum Ballet is proud to present: twelve hours of nonstop physical and emotional torture condensed into less than three minutes of profanity loudly flatuated through the face hole of the star of our one-man show.

"So you're FUCKING TELLING ME," Karkat began, wasting no time flying into an all-caps rage, "THAT EVEN THOUGH I SPENT A GOOD FOURTY-FIVE MINUTES GETTING THE GODDAMN DICKING OF MY _LIFE_ AFTER LITERALLY SELLING MY GODFORSAKEN CORPSE TO THE LITERAL BALL-GARGLING DUKE OF THE FIFTH CIRCLE OF ACTUAL HELL," Karkat did not notice the demoness' smile dropping from her face immediately, "I'M STILL GOING TO BE USED AS A RENUABLE GODDAMN RESOURCE FOR THAT DISCOUNT ABORTION AMPORA LIKE I'M A FUCKING WINDMILL THAT SPEWS AN ENDLESS TORRENT OF PLASMIDS MADE OF PLATINUM SINGLES. AND—FOR SOME _KNUCKLESHITTING REASON_ —YOU DECIDED TO INFORM ME OF THIS!"

Much to the spider-demon's surprise, Karkat flung himself back onto the bridge, spread-eagled and facing the sky, "WELL WHOOP-DE-GODDAMN-DO, MIGHT AS WELL MAKE GOOD USE OF YOUR WALMART-PURCHASED AERO KNIFE RIGHT NOW. GO ON, DON'T DISAPPOINT CHEF MING TSAI," Despite the offer, he took to his feet immadiately and grasped the side of the bridge and leaned backwards, glaring at the demoness upside down, "AND TO TOP _ALL OF THAT SHIT OFF,_ YOU ARE APPARENTLY AWARE OF THE SOUL-CRUSHINGLY ABYSMAL CEREMONY OF ASS-GRINDING THAT WAS MY FIRST SEXUAL EXPERIENCE, AN EVENT I WAS TO SPEAK WITH EXACTLY _GODDAMN NO ONE_ ABOUT," he flung himself away from the side of the bridge, stomping purposefully back and forth in four-foot increments, "SO HEY, LET'S JUST _TALK ABOUT IT_ , HUH? LET'S TALK ABOUT IT WITH EVERY CROTCHRUBBING CHUCKLEFUCK IN MY LIFE. BETTER YET—IT MIGHT JUST BE TIME TO TAKE A SELFIE WITH A GIANT PURPLE TENTACLE WANG AND LIST THIS TRAUMATIZING EXPERIENCE AS A FACEBOOK LIFETIME EVENT. WHAT SHOULD I PUT IN THE DESCRIPTION? 'HAD A MEETUP WITH DESTINY, SMILEY EMOJI. THIS WAS A FRIDAY THE THIRTEENTH NEVER TO FORGET LOL! HEART EMOJI.' SHITTINGLY PERFECT IF YOU ASK ME—."

Karkat stopped his pacing as he turned to face the demoness once again, only to find her gone. A bicyclist sped around a corner and across the bridge, staring at Karkat with his mouth slightly agape, obviously having caught wind of the tail end of Karkat's rant. Karkat chose to glare at him until he was gone, not possessing enough warewithall to nod at him casually like Dave would've done.

Naturally, further searching around the bridge proved that the demoness had chosen to fuck off instead of staying around to torment him. Although Karkat was still terrified of the thought of being captured and slowly bled for the rest of his natural life, his frustration about being esentially caught with his pants down in the awkwardest-slash-worst moment of his life momentarily eclipsed such fears. But the crawling feeling up the back of his neck remained—if she'd managed to pop up out of no where so quickly, there was no telling where she'd manage to show up next.

 **Xxxxxxxxx**

Despite Karkat's fears, the remainer of the weekend passed peacefully, despite him jumping every time a sudden loud noise punctuated the air (which was an unfortunately common occurance in the Vantas household). Kankri wrangled Karkat into helping him study for his GRE, Karkat watched old episodes of Game of Thrones with his dad, Ms. Leijon brought her laptop over so the family could sign with Nepeta's older sister Meulin over Skype, Dave snap chatted Karkat a picture of a white suburban dad wearing a midieval hood. The caption read 'he will save us' with no context.

Life resumed, although the events of Friday morning slunk around the back of his mind like a thick, gooey substance. Karkat woke up in a cold sweat on Saturday morning after dreaming of Dave pinning him down to the bed by his throat, mouth overfull of sharp teeth and red eyes blazing with mania. Gamzee sat in a dim corner of the room, half-lidded eyes like dark and glittering gems. The rest of the day, Dream Dave's hot words in his ear echoed over and over. Karkat felt like he'd been there, hissing them into his head with malicious intent: "Did you get home _safe_?" Dave's words, but someone else's voice.

Karkat stopped by the park that day to see The Mayor, hoping some light conversation would help get his mind off of things. He ended up becoming withdrawn and watching The Mayor construct a new strip mall out of several cans of Spam while he himself sat and watched on the swings.

Karkat looked down at his forearms, which were almost a bright pink. When he'd returned home after his meeting, he'd climbed into the shower and proceeded to exfoliate himself raw with Kankri's superfulous supply of Lush products and loofahs. His romance novels had led him to believe that shower sessions full of gratuitous scrubbing would result in him feeling pure once more after being throughly ravished, but he felt exactly the same. Only now he was raw-skinned and reeked like an assortment of douchey herbs and fair-trade cocoa butter.

In deep confrontation with his adventures in post-ravishing bathtime rituals, Karkat didn't notice the person sneaking up on him until it was too late.

"Goddamn, Karkat."

"JESUS CHRIST ON A STICK!" Karkat sprang up from the swing and—in the process of taking a defensive stance—managed to wrap one of the chains around his leg as he turned to face his assailant.

Dave Stider stood behind him, an arm full of canned goods and what appeared to be a katana slung over his shoulder. He had carried it everywhere with him from a young age, claming it was an umbrella with a katana scabbard as the handle. Supposedly needed it to protect his paper-colored skin from the "cruel rays of the sun", like his glasses protected his albino-ass eyes. Karkat, however, had never seen the umbrella out, even while it was raining, and continued to suspect that is was, in fact, a real sword.

Dave took no notice of Karkat's violent reaction to his appearance and contined on regardless, expression as blasé as ever, "First you don't respond to my snapchat and now I find you and The Mayor hanging without me?" his glasses pointed in the direction of the vagrant currently mulling over his highend spam stripmall.

"Fucking _fuck_ , Strider, you scared the piss out of me!" Karkat snarled, untangling himself from the swings and giving Dave's shoulder a push. Dave instead grasped Karkat's hand and slid it over his heart.

"Do you know how long I slaved over that meme for you?" he whispered in a serious voice. Karkat rolled his eyes and produced a saliva-ridden scoff. Dave shook his head, feigning the deepest hurt.

"It was hand-crafted by me like the finest of silk robes to be worn by the emporer of memes himself. Do you _know_ what kind of things I had to search in order to come across that masterpiece of a picture?" he squeezed Karkat's hand which, despite the slew of absolute bullshit running from his mouth, made the other boy's heart flutter, "It had to be perfect: from the soulful look in his eye to the dissonant pictures of his cat and children in the back. Do you understand the things I did to bring it to you? The kinky-ass porn ads that are going to get generated because of my endless googling? Do you even know who this man is going to save?"

Nonplussed, Karkat stared at Dave as he pointed into the street, as if the subject of the meme were waiting there in his glorious medieval hood.

"Not you," Dave whispered, shaking his head in derision, "Because you couldn't even take five seconds to snap me back. And on top of that, where do I find you?" Dave produced a bitter laugh, "Alone with the mayor. I thought we had something, Karkat. I'm _wounded_ to see you taking part in this veritable liaison."

"Would you kindly fucking cease your endless stream of meme garbage, you flatulant Boohbah?!" Karkat howled at last, yanking his hand back. His cheeks were going pink and he wanted to disguise them under the guise of anger.

"Well, that attitude means that you and the rest of the story people aren't getting a present today," Dave observed, eyebrows shooting up so high that they showed a little above his shades, "Mrs. Lady is going to be so disappointed—she was waiting for that present, you know."

"What the chicken fried _fuck_ are you talking about, Strider?!"

"You can't use Boohbahs to insult me if you don't know the first thing about that modern classic piece of television." Dave retorted instantly. Karkat slid his hand down his own face, attempting to take it with his palm.

"There is nothing classic about those furry foreskin creatures."

"How would you know if you've never seen it?"

"We are NOT having this conversation, dickcheese." Karkat turned away from Dave and plopped his ass back down in the swing set. During the midst of Dave's meme monologue, The Mayor had walked over and was politely waiting for their banter to finish. Dave greeted him and handed over the new cans (the baked beans were decided to act as a Boudin Bakery for the new strip mall, while it was decided that the corn was to be put into reserves for the Can Town convention center).

Dave returned moments later to find Karkat swinging slowly, scraping his toes over the bark. Dave's appearance had—very momentarily—been enough to distract Karkat from his onslaught of feelings, but the general gloom he'd been feeling had encapsulated him once more in nearly an instant. Frowning a little, Dave sat down on the swing next to Karkat and swung sideways, bumping into Karkat's hip.

"What's up, buttercup?" He asked, popping the p attractively. Karkat shrugged, but didn't make an effort to hide his mood. It was hard enough putting up a front for his family; he didn't want to put one up for his best friends as well.

"You all talked out or something?" Dave pressed, swinging a little harder and bumping to Karkat's hip yet again, "I mean, I know The Mayor is a riveting conversationalist," There was a pause, "The joke is The Mayor doesn't talk."

"Yeah, I got the fucking joke, Strider." Karkat replied with a bit more venom than he intended. He instantly felt bad for taking his feelings out on the person he liked most, "Sorry, that came out wrong."

Dave stopped bumping into Karkat and took a moment to ponder his tongue piercing. Karkat watched it with wilting attention, typically much more excited to see that particular habit, "So why are you really out here, Karkat? What's on your mind?"

Karkat struggled to make words. He found that he was left speechless more times that weekend than he had been within the last several years. He thought back to his earlier desire to text Dave and ask for advice, but THE SACRIPICE kept flashing across his mind's eye in comic sans. Karkat folded his hands together, worrying the inside of his cheek with his teeth. Talking about it would definitely help, but how the hell was he going to phrase things?

"You okay—?" Dave began, but Karkat quickly cut him off.

"I got into an argument with Kankri."

"Okay. Unsurprising, but okay. Go on."

"We were—he was going on one of his rants and the issue of consent came up," Karkat lied, "I. Okay. What if someone was holding a gun to your head," even as he talked, he felt the mock story create answers in his mind, "And they'd shoot you unless you agreed to have sex with them." Karkat paused, but Dave was resting his chin on his steepled fingers, listening intently.

"But, when you had sex with them," Karkat continued, "It ended up being really, _really_ good. But afterwards you still felt… kind of violated and," The revenge of the nervous lip-licking made Karkat take pause once more, "Really fucked up for enjoying it. Is that—," he looked at Dave, eyes wide and desperate, "Is that rape?"

"Well, yeah." Dave's dreaded answer was delivered immediately, "I mean, if you didn't consent, that's still rape. I guess if you changed your mind and consented _eventually_ —," He shook his head, "Well, no, that'd still be rape," He nodded decisively, "As long as you didn't consent, that'd still be rape."

"But I _did_ consent—." Karkat started, and then dread trickled into his chest as he realized what he'd just said. Dave sat up, all his half-hearted thoughtfulness instantly gone and replaced with genuine concern.

"Woah, wait—what do you mean _you_?" Dave's hand shot out to grasp Karkat's shoulder, his mouth was twisted with worry, "Did something happen—something at Eridan's party? Are you okay?"

"Look, no—I'm fine, it was nothing."

" _Bullshit_ ," Dave shook his head, "You definitely said 'I'. Look, I'm not going to make you say anything, but Karkat—listen. You're not alone in this—whatever this is."

Karkat was awash with a simultaneous sense of comfort and humiliation. Dave was acting like Karkat was a drunk sorority girl who'd tragically been taken advantage of at a frat party. But there was so much more to the story that made it even more painful—he'd literally done it to save his life. He felt more like a survivor than a victim—but he still managed to feel victimized, especially with Dave's reaction. It made him feel pathetic and small.

"Does this really have to be such a big deal?" Karkat said with the hope that minimalizing the situation would help to minimalize the pity as well. He stared hard down at the bark around his feet, foolishly seeking knowledge from inanimate objects as he oft did.

"'Such a big deal?' I mean, _you_ tell _me_ ," Dave took a deep breath, dragging a hand through his white hair, "If you got hurt, it's important that we do something about it, one way or another," He took the hand steadied on Karkat's shoulder and secured it around Karkat's hands comfortingly, "We need to keep you save," He added quietly.

"Do something?" Karkat laughed incredulously; what the fuck could be done about it now? What would they do, show a reenactment of the covenant being forged on Dateline?

"Yeah. Do something. Like, make sure that no one else is hurt either," Dave confirmed, squeezing Karkat's hand, " _I_ care about you, and even if _you_ don't care about you, I want to make sure that no one else gets hurt in… whatever's going on."

"Who said anything is going on?!" Karkat snapped, wrenching his hand away, Dave stared, his expression as unreadable as ever behind the tint of his glasses.

"Look, I'm not trying to put words in your mouth, okay? I just…" He sighed, "I know Kankri does go on about a lot of 'hashtag trigger warning' things," Dave did a little wave with both hands to dictate Kankri's hashtag, "But you seem particularly invested in this one. If anything has gone on, I'm gonna do everything in my power to help you. I just want you to know that, okay?"

Karkat was suddenly aware that he'd started crying while Dave talked—is was from a combination of the rare sincerity and concern that Dave was showing and the gravity of the situation finally catching up with him. Everything became so much more real whenever someone was there to confirm it.

Dave started, his hands hovered awkwardly over Karkat's shoulders, as if he were suddenly too fragile to touch, "Oh shit buddy, are you okay? Come on, let's talk it out."

At the sound of Karkat's crying, The Mayor had walked back over to the swings and was frowned at his young friend, eyes clouded with concern. He and Dave exchanged nervous glances, "I think we're gonna get out of here for now," Dave said to The Mayor, who nodded with understanding. Dave turned back to Karkat, who was gripping his jeans and dissolving into gross sobbing, "Hey, do you want to go somewhere to talk? Did you drive here?"

Karkat shook his head, "Walked," he managed to say, voice full of stuffy-nose weight.

Dave sucked in his lips and gave a single, head-bobbing nod, "Okay. Yeah. We're going to my house."

Waving goodbye to The Mayor, Dave helped Karkat up off the swing and, keeping a reassuring arm around him, led him away.


End file.
